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Words of wisdom (or not) from the meandering mind of a woman who ought to know better...
About Me
- Suzanne
- Middle-aged woman, probably blogging mostly about travel, but also potentially about conventions, computers, and cats. Browncoat, Trek, Star Wars fan. Known as Opentu Suggestions in Barfleet and on some other social media
3 comments:
Hee hee. This was mentioned on the radio last week. My first thought was, "Hey! That was in the book I just read!" Seriously, Hal Duncan's _Ink_, which is a sequel to the equally odd _Vellum_ has a "story-line" about the future wars that includes "orgone" weaponry that affects those hit by the rays/bombs with out-of-control immediate-need lust.
They need to drop the "gay bomb" on the Rupublican National Convention...It's too bad Falwell died--I would have paid a lot of money to see him get it on with Pat Robertson...*evil grin*
PASSIONATE NIGHTS LET US ENJOY
Passionate nights of steaming love
Let us enjoy, because
The end is nearing fast enough
Nor we forestall it thus:
But actions of my government
Give rise to enemies
That may well harbor the intent
To ruin such times as these.
Bombing a people to a rubble
Does not engender love,
While--in a world so rife with trouble
Where every day is rough--
It seems we can do little more
Than keep some love alive
Domestic--even though the roar
Of hatred war does drive.
It is but moonlight (or a streetlamp)
Now filters through the window,
While naked flesh-on-flesh so we tramp
In joy--but not a sin do:
I press, caress, and you return
With heaving sighs, the same:
It is a passion, so we burn
Without a sense of shame.
So I will play, and kiss those parts
Of you, a joy to know--
Not quite communion of true hearts
But pleasure, even so.
Ah, words need not report, in detail
What I do, as so makes
Your body writhe--not come by retail,
But joy it is awakes,
Fantastic wild the ecstasy,
But we need not report it,
Wild naked, sweet gentility:
The editors can sort it.
These pleasures are but born of love:
We pray to God our tithe;
But elsewhere rude conditions shove
And other bodies writhe.
The spurting is from blood released,
A body truly dying,
While policy is but appeased,
Unto our own guilt tying;
For ours the government has done
Egregious harm against
Innocents--why, beneath the sun
Was ever war commenced?
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